


Say It Like You Mean It

by devotchka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Come Swallowing, D/s, Established Relationship, Gun Kink, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Ownership, Power Exchange, Rape Fantasy, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devotchka/pseuds/devotchka
Summary: Prompto isn't the best at communicating what he wants. Gladio intends to fix that, one way or another.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Comments: 15
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

Tents don't really do it for Prompto -- he's more of an inside person -- but he'll take what he can get. Finding himself face-down, pinned between the hard floor and Gladio's solid frame really does it for him, anyway, because Gladio simply knows how to get under his skin like that.

Noctis and Ignis are both gone off on a supply run, and that means they have time and privacy. Prompto thinks there's nothing else he'd rather be doing with it.

He shifts his hips a little (not much else he can do) and feels the pressure of Gladio's half hard cock against his ass. _That_ really does it for him. That makes him feel valid and wanted, and it's exciting; it fills him with a burning, impatient need; it makes him pant and grind his hips up again and again.

Until Gladio, Prompto had never considered himself a very sexual person. Then he lost his virginity. He discovered that sex was a great way to fill certain voids in him: an outlet, a way out of his own head, a service he can provide in exclusivity and therefore something of value.

He aches for it.

Above him, Gladio grabs a handful of pale blond hair and tugs Prompto's neck back, exposing the long line of his throat. His mouth presses against it, and then his teeth, ever so gently.

Prompto whimpers. His breath hitches. "Gladio, please..."

"Please what?" Gladio replies. Prompto envies how in control he sounds, how collected, like he doesn't just fall apart at the slightest touch. "Tell me what you want."

He tries to show him instead. He always tries to just show him. It used to work. His hips grind up again, searching, his ass pressing up into Gladio's lap. He doesn't know why he can't just say it -- why it isn't so simple to just say _fuck me so hard I can't walk straight in the morning_ \-- but every time he gets put on the spot like this he freezes up. Unfortunately, Gladio has recognized the problem, and he's sticking to it like it's his to fix.

"Tell me." He insists.

"Hurt me." Prompto forces out.

He can feel his skin flush at just that simple admission. A part of him feels filthy and abnormal for wanting the things that he wants, for getting off on roughness and cruelty, despite the fact that Gladio gets off on doing it to him. It was Gladio who showed him this could be safe and sane.

And he's thankful that he doesn't have to elaborate any further. Gladio lets go of his hair and instead pins him to the floor by the back of his neck, sitting up behind him.

Gladio chooses to spank him, his hand connecting sharply with sensitive skin. There is no warning. Prompto's jeans do little to shield him from the immediate pain, and he bites his lip to muffle himself. Gladio does it again.

The sound that comes out of Prompto's mouth is more of a moan than a scream.

"Like this?" Gladio asks, and he does it again. It's hard enough that Prompto's whole body jolts. He thinks, if this lasted long enough, he could come from just the pain and the friction of his body rocking against something solid alone.

" _Yes_." He moans.

Gladio does it again, and again, and again. Prompto thinks of the bruises that must be forming under his clothes -- tangible reminders of this strange bond he has with someone, this sacred thing they do with each other.

He can hear himself panting. In between each violent hit, he can feel Gladio's cock pressing against his legs, and he desperately wants to feel that in him. He just doesn't know how to ask for it. The problem with Prompto is that he's a little bit insecure and a lot anxious in general; he doesn't know how to let words like those just naturally fall from himself, not like Gladio can, not with the confidence that he has.

So he settles for moaning and looking vulnerable and waiting until Gladio's patience wears thin. His hands grab at the sleeping bag underneath him and squeeze hard. Words continue to fail him. Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes like hours.

He's just on the verge of begging when Gladio stops and flips him over onto his back. Immediately, he's claiming his mouth, and Prompto leans up into it, meeting him with just as much urgency as he's given.

His skin stings where it presses against the floor. His legs spread so willingly around Gladio's waist, open and inviting.

"Get undressed." Gladio says, and Prompto is eager to obey.

It's so much easier when the choices aren't his to make.

His heart beats hard and fast as he strips himself of everything. Gladio doesn't follow suit. He just waits patiently, and then he's on top of Prompto again, in between his legs. He's solid and warm.

The next time Gladio leans down and kisses him it's gentle and reassuring. His mouth lingers, his tongue gently pressing between Prompto's lips, his hands cupping his face so softly.

Prompto loves these small moments, too. He loves that no matter what they do Gladio makes sure he knows that it's about him more than the motions; that he's focused on him, that he wants him, that there are more feelings to share than simple lust and violence.

If he were better with words, Gladio might pull something romantic out of him in these moments. Instead he takes those thoughts and he shoves them deep down, somewhere else, somewhere where they can't complicate a good thing.

"You're doing so well." Gladio praises him, and Prompto feels guilty that he hadn't pushed himself to be as vocal as he'd wanted. It doesn't feel earned. "You want me to fuck you?"

He just nods. He lets the guilt sit with him a while.

Gladio stays mostly dressed. He shoves his pants down just far enough, applies just enough lube, and then he's lining up and pushing into him. Prompto gasps at the feel of being stretched so suddenly, but it's easy to relax into it. Even the discomfort is somehow pleasant to him.

He moans Gladio's name. He lets that convey how good it feels.

And then he's buried all the way in him, asking, "How do you want it, Prompto?"

And Prompto knows he has to make a judgement call -- that he _wants_ to do it, wants to please Gladio like Gladio pleases him. It's easier this time, in such an aroused and needy state, to force out the words, "Hit me."

"Where?"

"My face."

He doesn't agree with words. He agrees by grabbing at Prompto's hair again, holding him in place. He agrees by snapping his hips into him and fucking him hard, and maintaining a punishing pace as his hand connects with the right side of Prompto's face.

It's not as hard as when he's spanking him. They have to be careful not to leave bruises, but it's still hard enough to make Prompto's ears ring, hard enough to make him want to flinch and have to fight back the urge to do it. He's heard enough times that if he wants this he has to be still and obedient. If there's one thing he's grown good at over the years, it's wordless obedience.

Gladio hits him again and again. The sounds Prompto makes grow louder and needier, and he knows he's being pushed close to coming already. This soon. This easily. If he could just get a little more -- something that really got his blood rushing and his body trembling...

Instead what he gets is a change in pace. Gladio slows down entirely, stops hitting him, and Prompto almost asks him why. He knows why.

"Don't stop." He says, and hopes it's enough. "Please don't stop."

He's vaguely aware of his hips aching. He's vaguely aware of how Gladio doesn't listen to him, and how torturous those slow, deep thrusts are rapidly becoming. They hit a spot in him that sends jolts of pleasure down his spine.

His legs tremble, and he starts to beg. "Please. Please, Gladio. I need..."

And then he stops himself. Even like this, pushed so close, he feels anxious. He worries he might say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, make some mistake he didn't see coming.

"You need what?" Gladio presses.

And Prompto caves. He knows what he needs; he knew all along. He sleeps with his pistol under his pillow, and he forces out an embarassed, "Use the gun."

Above him, Gladio smirks. He reaches up above them, his hand searching where they both know it's hidden away, and Prompto hears the telltale click of the safety going off before he sees cold metal in the corner of his eye. Arousal pools deep in him, overwhelming, and his insides flutter around Gladio's cock.

"This?" Gladio asks.

Prompto just nods. He thinks Gladio can tell the difference between anxiety and need, because he doesn't press any further.

He turns the barrel against the side of Prompto's face. It's cold and solid, and Prompto can smell gunpowder residue on it, in the barrel, and he's ungodly aroused by the danger of it all. Gladio pushes it a bit harder against the side of his face, and Prompto goes still beneath him.

"Do you know why I like it when you tell me these things?" He asks.

Prompto swallows. Between those slow, deliberate thrusts into him, and the pistol pressing against his skin, he's too overwhelmed to think. "No." He admits.

"Look at you. Look at how worked up you are." He replies. Prompto feels his own weapon trace along his jawbone, all the way until it rests under his chin. He tilts his head back for it. "I like that I'm the only person who gets to know you like this. Just me."

Oh, Prompto thinks. _Oh_.

"Fuck me harder." He asks, and Gladio gives it to him.

It feels so good to get what he wants. It feels so good to let go, and have faith that he will be taken care of, so good to be owned in a way that he can trust. He feels heavy, almost out-of-body, grounded solely by the intensity of their motions.

He is so thankful for this man who knows just how to push his limits, this man who can hold him down and make him feel like he's better than he was before.

The closeness, the roughness, have him edging closer and closer, and suddenly words aren't failing him quite as much.

" _Please_." He begs. "Please. I'm so close. Make me come."

He knows that Gladio knows how to. He knows that Gladio knows just what to do to get him out of his own head.

Gladio's free hand wraps around his throat, under where the pistol rests, and he squeezes hard. A gasp dies in Prompto's throat as his air supply cuts off completely. It feels like a head rush, like lava.

It's exactly what he needs.

_I love you_ , he thinks, _I love you. I love you. I love you._

If he could speak, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from saying it. He comes hard, his mouth dropping open and his nails digging into Gladio's wrist, and suddenly, just as he goes lightheaded, he can breathe again.

Gladio leans into him, their mouths crashing together one more time. He kisses Prompto deeply as he thrusts his hips hard once, and again, so deep that it hurts, and his pace stutters. Gladio always likes to hold him close when he comes, and it makes Prompto feel wanted this time, loved.

For a while they just lay together, content to let time pass in silence, relaxing in the afterglow. Prompto's hips ache, and he's sore. He thinks he couldn't be happier if he tried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m making this the spot where I dump all my similarly themed smut oneshots. Hope you guys don’t mind!

They rotate out who shares rooms with who each time they stay at a hotel. When Gladio finally finds himself sharing a room with Prompto, he already has a plan. He knows what he wants, and he thinks he knows how he can get it.

He thinks -- based off the way he blushes as soon as they're alone -- that Prompto knows, too.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Gladio is cornering him, boxing him in between the door and his much larger frame. Prompto's hands fly up to his chest; Gladio's settle on Prompto's narrow waist.

"You have no idea how impatient I've been for tonight." Gladio says, and Prompto looks up at him, all wide eyes and vulnerability and exactly what he likes.

He doesn't say anything back. Gladio knows his answer -- _me too_ \-- but he would like to hear it either way.

"I think we're gonna break this shy streak you've been on."

He didn't know it was possible for Prompto's skin to flush even further, and yet it does.

Gladio leans down to his level and kisses him. He knows Prompto will be grateful for the distraction, pleased by the motions, and he meets him halfway by tip-toeing and cupping his face in both hands. Gradually, Gladio begins to let Prompto lead, and so the kiss stays gentle and sweet.

Despite his infatuation with having terrible things done to him, Prompto is not a very urgent person when it comes to this. It's more like he likes partners who are that way. He is deliberate. He treats Gladio like something that might break -- something he wants to handle with the utmost care.

Gladio wonders what it would be like to have Prompto ride him.

He doesn't want to put too much pressure on him in the very beginning, so he gradually lets control shift back into his own hands, kissing Prompto a bit harder in turn and feeling the way he reflexively caves into him, the way he parts his lips without a struggle.

Prompto sighs into the kiss. Gladio scoops him up by his thighs, and Prompto's legs wrap around his waist, and it's so much easier to just hold his weight like this and keep him at his level. He presses him harder into the wall. Prompto's hips grind into him, searching for friction.

Prompto has always liked to be quiet, to barely make a sound, almost to not participate. It's like he prefers to have things done _to_ him rather than _with_ him. It's hot in it's own submissive way, but not quite what Gladio is looking for tonight.

He pulls Prompto away from the wall and turns them around, carrying him to the bed with ease. He lets him down less than gently, guiding him onto his back below him, and this time he doesn't ask him to say out loud what he wants.

No, this time is all about _forcing_ sounds out of him.

His mouth finds its way to the curve of Prompto's neck. He bites down hard, no foreplay, and Prompto's breath hitches. A noise dies in his throat. He writhes against him a little bit, struggling mostly for show, and Gladio grabs a handful of his hair to hold him in place.

Prompto's pain tolerance has always been high. Gladio does not feel bad about biting hard enough to bruise, hiding the marks lower, trailing towards his collarbone. He marks Prompto as his; he leaves him hickies and bruises that he knows will bring him comfort when this is over and he's sleeping alone again.

Prompto's hands slip under his shirt, his fingers pressing hard against his skin. "Please." He gasps, "Please, Gladio."

Gladio always feels comfort in consent, and it emboldens him. "Turn around." He replies. "Get on your knees."

Wordlessly, Prompto obeys.

Gladio shifts back just enough to give Prompto space, and then settles his hands on his lower back. He knows that being like this makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel exposed, and that, if he plays his cards right, that humiliation is something that'll be getting him off later, once things pick up.

"I like you like this." He muses.

He doesn't force a reply from Prompto; he doesn't give him time even if he wanted to put forth the effort, which Gladio is sure he's considering doing. Instead he grabs at the front of his jeans and tugs them down just enough, just past his thighs, and immediately spreads him open.

He feels Prompto flinch a bit at that -- at being put on display. He feels him flinch again as he leans in, and presses his tongue against his hole. Prompto whimpers. His body stills.

Rimming him is something that Gladio rarely gets to do; it's a challenge for Prompto to let him be that close, to let him do something so intimate. It makes the opportunities even better. His tongue drags along the sensitive muscle, soaking everything, and Prompto lowers his body until his hips are raised and his face is against the mattress. Gladio thinks, if he had to guess, that he's suppressing the urge to buck his hips back.

He genuinely wishes that Prompto would.

He licks him there until he's trembling, and then he presses a finger into him, and it slides in with ease. There's a sharp gasp in response that Gladio knows is from pleasure, and this time Prompto really does grind his hips back, just enough to take Gladio's finger down to the base.

Gladio doesn't waste time, adding a second one almost immediately and gently beginning to thrust them in and out. "You look so good like this." He says, and then he leans in and licks around where his fingers are stretching him open, and this time Prompto does moan, soft and needy.

Gladio searches around a bit, angling his fingers until he hits that spot that makes Prompto tremble and pant, and he stays focused on it. Gradually, his mouth shifts from it's gentle, kind motions to bite along his thighs, and Prompto's breath is hitching at the pain, his body tensing.

"Gladio, oh my god, _please_."

He speeds up the pace of his fingers, ramming into that spot mercilessly. This close, he can hear the slick, wet sound of himself violating Prompto, the sound of his fingers fucking into him.

Prompto moans for it, forces out an urgent, "Don't stop."

Gladio doesn't. When Prompto comes, he does it just like usual, letting the pleasure build up inside him and then letting go with barely a whimper, his body shaking and his hands gripping the sheets hard.

Gladio backs off. He looks down at his handiwork, at the wetness in between Prompto's legs, and he knows Prompto can hear the sound of him shifting around his own clothes, freeing his cock. He shows his consent by grinding back into him, rubbing that wetness against him, a silent request to keep going. Part of what gets Prompto off is getting his partner off. He'd never refuse it.

Gladio lines up with him, and after everything they've already done tonight it's easy to get Prompto to take his cock. Not only is it easy, he's worn out, and he moans so softly as he feels the stretch of it. He caves in a bit, rolling his hips back into him, easing in the last few inches.

Gladio doesn't wait for him to adjust. He treats Prompto like a toy, immediately setting the pace _he_ wants -- fast and aggressive -- and Prompto finally, _finally_ moans for it.

He's overstimulated, and the angle is probably too deep, and Gladio knows it aches for him. It's why he picked this position to begin with. He picked it because, like this, Prompto can feel like an object, like something meant solely to serve him, and he knows that will get some long-suppressed part of him off even more than the pain play.

One of his hands settles on the curve of Prompto's ass, spreading him open, watching the way he fills him up. "You take me so well, Prompto." He says. "I think this might just be what you're best at."

And Prompto moans again, his insides fluttering from just the words alone. Suddenly Gladio wants to make him come again; suddenly he isn't satisfied with just doing it once.

"You don't know how good you are."

Those small noises escape him again at the praise, something so rare during sex yet so freely given outside of it, something that's more special because of the way it works.

"You don't know how much I like to call you _mine_."

Below him, Prompto is panting and trembling, and he _really_ moans at that -- at belonging to someone, at everything it entails, and Gladio takes note.

"You're mine." He repeats. "You'll always be mine."

Prompto clenches around him. He moans again, and again.

"You could try and leave, and I would drag you back. You belong to _me_."

"Gladio. Oh my god, _yes_ , please, don't stop. Don't stop. Do it harder."

He barely has time to comply before Prompto is coming for the second time, moaning frantically, his face buried in the sheets and probably feeling humiliated and probably loving everything about that. His insides spasm and twitch, and with this pace Gladio doesn't last long, forcing himself as deep as he can and coming in him.

When everything's over, they cuddle. Prompto likes aftercare. He likes praise and back rubs and Gladio likes affirming their bond in this way; he likes having space to bluntly love Prompto just for being himself, and not simply someone who's good in bed.

He wonders just what happened to Prompto to make him into the person he is, the one who wants to belong so badly, the one who expresses his emotions best through physicality. He wonders if it's something that he can help fix. He knows that, either way, this is the relationship he wants to be in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I’m gonna also write that fantasy about Prompto being on top next. Chapter 3 is coming in hot!


	3. Chapter 3

It’s the middle of the night, and they’re pulled over on the side of the interstate. The roads are dark and empty. This really isn’t the kind of behavior that Gladio ever thought he would condone, and yet with Prompto it’s like he can never resist.

All Prompto needs to do is look pretty and sound needy, and Gladio suddenly stops thinking with his brain.

His seat is pulled back slightly, just enough to make room, and Prompto's in his lap, bouncing on his cock like this is something he _needs_. Gladio wouldn’t doubt that it is.

“When’s the last time you went a full day without begging me for this?” he asks.

Prompto is panting, his legs spread as wide as he can manage, and this time he manages to reply with an honest, “I haven’t.”

That’s so fucking hot. A few months ago, Prompto was naïve and inexperienced. This is something that only Gladio has had, something that _he_ made him love so much – if there’s any real thing or reason worth calling Prompto a slut, it’s _him_.

"That's pathetic." Gladio says.

It isn't. It really isn't. Prompto moans, tipping his head back and exposing his throat, and Gladio doesn't waste any time in grabbing it. He only needs one hand to cut off his airway, and he pushes down on one of Prompto's thighs with the other one, forcing him to take his cock even deeper on each downswing.

If anything, Prompto's pace picks up. His hips roll and his hands grip the fabric of Gladio's shirt even tighter.

Gladio watches him move, fascinated by his form, by how delicate he feels in his grip. At this point in their relationship, he's seen Prompto win fights for his life; he's seen him throw himself face first into inevitable danger; he just can't shake the thought of him as something fragile. And yet...

He lets go of Prompto's throat, cupping his face and turning it towards him, his fingers digging in where they rest. "Look at me." He commands.

It's not something Prompto is keen on doing. He likes to be taken _out_ of his head when they do this, but Gladio likes grounding him in the moment too much. He likes seeing him come apart and knowing that it's something more than just sensations, something intimate.

He obeys because it's what he's best at, his face already pink from choking, his bright blue eyes struggling to meet Gladio's own. He can see the humiliation in them. He capitalizes on that. "Are you ashamed that you like this?" He asks.

Prompto doesn't say anything -- doesn't know _what_ to say, most likely -- but his gaze falters, and Gladio rewards him with a slap across the face.

"That's what I thought." Gladio says. "Look at how desperate you are, like all you want to be good for is fucking."

Prompto moans for that, and Gladio doesn't make him look at him anymore; rather, he lets him enjoy the fantasy, grabbing a handful of pale, blond hair and forcing his head back again, pulling it hard.

"I've never known anyone else so eager to be used like this. Do you know that?"

And because Prompto is quick to degrade himself -- doesn't need the extra help -- he moans out a soft, "Uh huh."

Gladio lets go of his hair, then, and cups the side of his face. It's a gentle motion. Prompto is moving with urgency, his hips rocking, bouncing in his lap. Gladio simply sweeps his thumb across Prompto's lips. "You just want to belong to someone, don't you?"

He's hit a sweet spot with that one. " _Yes_." Prompto moans.

Gladio pulls him in, then, and kisses him. Prompto moans into it, presses his whole body into it, his arms wrapping tightly around Gladio's shoulders as he kisses him back like close isn't close enough.

Gladio wonders if this is the only way that Prompto _knows_ how to be close to anyone.

"You're mine." He says, in between heavy, needy kisses. "You'll always be mine."

Prompto's panting, grinding down into him like he's so close to coming, and he isn't even asking for violence yet. He isn't begging. He isn't shying away. He breaks another kiss, and presses his lips against Gladio's cheek, and his ear, and the junction between his jawline and his throat.

"I love you." Prompto says, and it spills from him over and over, like a weight he's been carrying for far too long. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Gladio doesn't even have to think it over. "I love you, too." He replies.

It's got to be the least violent sex they've had in months. Gladio can't complain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains consensual non-consent, AKA rape fantasies. I’m posting a content warning about that now just in case it isn’t someone’s thing — you can feel free to skip this chapter and move onto the next one when it’s posted, as they all tend to explore different thoughts and feelings.
> 
> So, cw/tw: The CNC in this is light, but it’s there.

Prompto thinks things might be weird after an I-love-you confession came pouring out of him during the wildest dick riding of his life, and it turns out that he's right. Things _are_ weird.

But it also turns out that he doesn't hate it.

He likes the fact that Gladio says it back, even if he only half believes it to be true, and he likes the way that Gladio never presses him to talk about it again. He likes that it gives him another reason he can trust him.

He feels, in a way, like Gladio knows his way around his head, and he kind of likes that, too. 

When Gladio catches him alone outside their campsite and shoves him back against some wide, firm tree, Prompto’s first thought is about what he asked him that night: _You just want to belong to someone, don't you?_

It turns out only to someone worth loving.

Prompto almost moans right then and there. He responds to physical contact without fail. The more of it the better, and whatever strange bond they have only piles that feeling on.

Gladio knows this, which is why he immediately wedges a thigh in between Prompto's barely spread legs, and why he pushes against his chest to keep him in place.

"I want to do something different tonight." Gladio says, and before Prompto can immediately agree (because he would), he explains, "I want you to tell me no. Beg me to stop."

Prompto’s mouth drops open. First the returned affection, and now this -- how the fuck did he ever get so lucky?

"Do you trust me?" Gladio asks.

The response is immediate. His heart is already racing in his chest, his body burning up with need, and he eagerly gets out an undeniable "yes" before he's very obviously, consensually throwing himself at Gladio, so aroused that he's defeating the purpose.

"Good." Gladio replies as he pulls away.

Prompto mourns the contact, and then Gladio is muscling him around, grabbing him by his arms to twist him backwards. He cries out as his face presses into the hard surface of the tree, unable to brace himself with his hands. Gladio grabs those by the wrist and pins them with one of his own, holding them between their bodies.

"Wait--" Prompto tries, just to see if Gladio will.

He's pleased to see that he won't.

Gladio's free hand tugs at Prompto’s jeans, pulling them down just to the tops of his thighs as he tries to wiggle away. If words don't come easily at least the struggle can. He knows that, no matter how he moves, Gladio will effortlessly overpower him. The thought is incredibly arousing.

"You should've never trusted me." Gladio replies.

Prompto bites his lip and suppresses a moan. It's strange how the thought of being violated without permission makes him want to grind his ass back into him, but then Gladio makes sense of it all. As he always does.

"I always get what I want, Prompto. And right now I want you."

"Please." He whimpers, and it's _please take me_ , but he manages a soft, "Please don't."

"Really?" Gladio asks. He guides Prompto onto his tip toes by tugging on his arms. "Because you sound like you want it."

"I don't." He insists. He’s breathing hard already, completely unable to push Gladio even the slightest distance away from him. “I don’t.”

He can hear the rustling sound of Gladio undoing his pants with his free hand, and he thinks of all the ways he might violate him. He thinks about being on his knees, Gladio’s cock rammed down his throat. He thinks about being flat on his stomach, cold and filthy on the forest floor as Gladio fucks him from behind.

“Stop.” He tries. He’s frantic, but not quite with fear. “Please. Please don’t do this to me.”

Gladio makes a sound at that -- an I-don't-believe-you kind of sound -- and then Prompto feels the tip of his cock begin to spread him open (no lube, no foreplay), and it's only his stubbornness at being challenged that keeps him from caving in some way, from moaning in pure pleasure. "Look at you." Gladio muses. "So vulnerable. You don't even have any fight left in you."

It knocks Prompto speechless. Part of him feels ashamed; part of him feels even more aroused. He has no time to think his feelings through as Gladio finally pushes into him, and he's merciless, stretching him without warning.

He struggles. He flinches away from the pain. "Oh my god." He gasps. "You're hurting me."

That’s a true enough statement, but it is the _best_ kind of pain. He feels full already, claimed and wanted, his body aching as Gladio forces him to take more and more.

It’s only halfway in. Prompto can feel his hands trembling behind himself. He struggles to stay on his tip toes, motivated by pain and arousal and anything but the fear he's supposed to pretend that he has.

Gladio forces a bit more into him at the end of each thrust, and it's overwhelming, those insistent movements. "Please," Prompto manages, "It _hurts_."

"Thought you liked it like this." Gladio replies, and suddenly Prompto feels guilty. He feels ashamed for liking what he likes. He feels like he's falling into some dark part of his mind, struggling with his inability to play the role of victim -- what does that say about him?

“I can’t.” Prompto insists.

“You can.” Gladio replies.

Gladio angles Prompto's hips in towards him and finally he's in all the way, and immediately fucking him at a brutal pace. This is very obviously not about him; it's about Gladio and what Gladio wants, about how _he_ likes it, and how Prompto can't do those things for him, can't properly play the victim.

He can focus on the pain, and he does. It aches to be fucked like this. His legs are sore; his insides burn; he feels like there's no way he can accommodate Gladio's size like this. He's shaking. Adrenaline surges through him, but he feels frozen in place, remembering what Gladio said about having no fight in him.

"Stop." He says, and a part of him almost believes he is convincing enough. "Please, please stop."

"Can't you at least _pretend_ like you mean it?" Gladio teases, and the guilt surges through him again. He thinks about how badly he wants to just spread his legs and let him take, how he wants to admit that yes, Gladio is right and he really can't say no to him, can't even fake it well.

He's so frustrated with himself he could cry.

"Stop." He insists.

"Tell me like you mean it, Prompto."

"Please. _Please_.”

He's trembling, his breath hitching, Gladio completely ignoring his distress which only piles more on. Why does this arouse him more than anything else ever has?

"Gladio, please."

Gladio ignores his begging. He digs his fingers into Prompto's hip and continues to simply take from him, fucking him like he might fuck a toy, careless and fast. Prompto's body rocks with the motion, his wrists sore where Gladio still grips them in one hand, his legs burning from the stretch of holding himself up like this.

“ _Fuck_ —“

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Prompto?”

He's never been pushed like this. He's never felt this way before -- not about himself or about another person. This is a place only Gladio has dragged him to, and he whimpers as one careless thrust rams into his prostate and he almost comes right then and there.

He moans Gladio's name.

"You will _never_ be able to say no to me." Gladio replies, because he recognizes that sound as pleasure, and Prompto knows there's no way he'd be able to mask it even if he tried.

Gladio rams into that spot again, and again, and what Prompto thinks is _oh fuck, there, please, god_ and what comes out of his mouth is just, "Please. Please, please, please stop."

But Gladio knows better. He always knows better. Prompto thinks, as he comes with a sharp cry, that Gladio knew from the beginning this wasn't a game he'd be able to win.


	5. Chapter 5

Prompto should be happy. There are a multitude of reasons why he should be happy. Sure, things are kind of falling apart in front of his eyes on a regular basis, but his friends are still okay and his life is still together. Plus they aren't sleeping outside again, or staying up all night handling monsters. They even have their own hotel rooms.

And, even with the extra rooms paid for, Gladio enjoys his company so much that he's chosen to stay with him. Prompto _really_ has a person who loves him this much, and that's not something he's always been able to say.

He could never refuse Gladio, even when he's in a bad mood. Even when he's incomprehensibly stressed and feeling existential and confused. He was right -- he will never be able to say no to him, and wouldn't want it any other way.

That's why, when Gladio kisses him for the first time that night and he feels the unspoken promise of more, he doesn't push away and say he's too stressed. Rather, he just sort of melts into it. He returns the affection. He puts his hands on Gladio's body and lets him guide him backwards to the bed and lets him pull him down into his lap.

Part of Prompto feels most comfortable when they're close like this. He anticipates having control taken from him; he likes knowing that choices won't have to be his to make for a while. He truly enjoys submission when it's for Gladio.

His bad mood kind of doesn't, though.

Gladio, of course, can tell immediately. Maybe he can tell just by the way he kisses him. He's missing his usual neediness, relaxing and returning whatever Gladio gives him first instead of pressing into him and moaning and taking until he's no longer allowed to.

Gladio doesn't hurt him. He breaks the soft kiss and looks up at him, and Prompto can see the concern in his face as he mentions, "You've been really off today."

Prompto blinks. He hesitates. He doesn't jump at the chance to say _I'm just having another existential crisis is all_.

"Are you okay with this?" Gladio asks.

His thumbs are absentmindedly rubbing along Prompto's hips, and Prompto is very aware of what sitting in his lap is doing to him, and some deep-seated, instinctual part of his brain is ungodly aroused by it. He doesn't know how to explain that he wants to be taken whether he's stressed out or not. He's never been great with words like that, and reminds himself that he still isn't.

"Yeah." He lies, because he doesn't want to be a disappointment. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Gladio looks doubtful. "Because this trip has been a lot for all of us, including you."

Prompto doesn't want to be analyzed. He doesn't know how he feels about having it done correctly, and he's at war with the part of himself that wants to just cry about the pressure of everything going on, and the part of himself that wants to deny reality and get lost in the adrenaline of a particularly violent fucking.

The sex always wins. He cups Gladio's face in both hands -- showing that he's okay instead of telling him -- and kisses him a bit harder than before, a bit needier.

Gladio pulls him in closer, pressing him against his chest and holding him tight. He rolls them both around so Prompto is on his back, and he's in between his spread legs, and he kisses him deep but not violent.

Prompto wonders when he's going to pull his hair, or call him a whore, or pin him down. Obediently, he spreads his legs for it, gives him wordless permission to do as he likes to him.

"I love you." Gladio says.

His mouth presses against the curve of Prompto's neck, kissing there and trailing downward, and his hands slide up his top. Prompto sighs, feels the need already beginning to build in him and overtake his stress.

He leaves _I love you, too_ unspoken. He is more than confident that Gladio already knows.

Gladio's hips roll into him, gently, and Prompto grinds up into him, a soft moan escaping his lips. This is so much slower a pace than they usually set. He can feel everything, every deliberate movement, and this grounds him in the moment in a different way than usual.

Part of him can appreciate it, but he can't shake the question of when he will be hurt.

Gladio pushes his top up, and his hands wander along his ribcage, and up towards his chest. His thumbs graze past his nipples, and Prompto expects to be hurt, and somehow still isn't. He's so tense for it that he has to actively suppress the urge not to tremble, and he thinks that Gladio knows.

The kissing stays gentle and slow and Prompto's hands begin to wander. He lets them wind into Gladio's hair; he lets his tongue gently press into Gladio's mouth. It feels good, being this close.

And yet it feels like this isn't what he's supposed to be doing. He thinks of everything they've done -- the violence and degradation and the prying into each and every absurdity that makes him who he is. Can they do that gently?

He isn't used to having someone pay so much attention to him.

It makes him feel seen, and he isn't sure if he's ready for it, and as Gladio starts pulling at clothes -- both Prompto's and his own -- he begins to crave that violence more and more. He wonders if it's out of habit, and knows that it is.

He doesn't know how to communicate what he wants. He tries to let neediness do it, his grip on him tightening, his body arching into the least kind touches it can find.

"Gladio, please." He tries.

Gladio's kissing at his neck again; he's pulling off his underwear. "What do you need?" He asks.

" _Hurt me_." It comes spilling out of him without a second thought. It's reflexive. He can't take the gentleness, can't take being surrounded by affection and love. Not like this; not when he wholeheartedly believes he doesn't deserve it. "Please," He insists, "I need it."

It's like Gladio knows this is more complex than he's letting on. Prompto can see it in his face; he can see the way he actively makes judgement calls, and he's immediately relieved when he gets what he wants, Gladio's response being to push a hand down against his throat and pin him to the mattress.

"If that's how you want it." He says, and Prompto loses himself in the violence.


	6. Chapter 6

They start with violence. It's violence for the simple sake of it, for seeing how much Prompto can handle, and everything hurts. He feels like he's been here, doing this, for hours. He feels like he belongs here, doing this.

If he were to talk about it, he wouldn't be able to stress how much he aches. His face has been hit; he's been spanked and slapped and choked half-conscious. He's laying on the floor of some random motel room and all he can see at the corner of his vision is Gladio's dark, heavy boots, and he wonders if he will kick him again, and the thought sends a physical _need_ coursing through his exhausted body.

When he glances down, he can see bruises already forming: long streaks where he's been whipped across his chest, across his thighs, blood welling underneath them, the dark purple bruises seemingly everywhere. His clothes will barely hide this.

He's positive Noctis and Ignis have an idea, anyway, since the four of them so often get separate rooms lately.

Prompto stays on his back, lets Gladio tower over him, and closes his eyes. Adrenaline is violently coursing through him. It makes him shake; it makes his head spin and his heart pound in his chest.

He still isn't the greatest with words. He knows so because they're on the tip of his tongue -- _Please, Gladio, fuck me; I need you_ \-- and yet they don't come out. He can't take the waiting.

Gladio crouches down to his level, and even with his eyes closed he can feel the motion of it. He can feel the way his body tenses and anticipates another blow somewhere. He almost flinches as Gladio grabs a handful of his hair, balling it up in his fist and tugging hard, craning Prompto's head back.

He gasps. His eyes fly open, and he looks at Gladio as he studies his face. He wishes he knew what Gladio saw in it.

"Please," He begs, and he's so exhausted that his voice wavers, so exhausted that he might not be able to stop himself from crying, "I need you."

"You have me." Gladio replies, and Prompto knows he's giving him a hard time, knows that he wants to hear him beg to be fucked or something filthy like that, something he really can't say.

"Touch me."

"I've been touching you. You seem exhausted."

" _Fuck me_."

Gladio raises an eyebrow at that. Prompto blushes. "Look at that." Gladio replies. "I guess we just have to beat the confidence into you, huh?"

Maybe. Prompto's certainly beat the fuck up, and maybe he feels like that makes him more deserving. Maybe, through the crucible, he's _earned_ Gladio's affection and can justify that to himself.

All he knows is that he can't take the waiting. He needs it now.

"Gladio, please." He insists. From where he kneels, Gladio shifts his weight so that he's on top, shoving one of his legs in between Prompto's spread ones. Prompto feels the rough texture of his jeans and wants nothing more than to grind into them, seeking friction, but he waits. "I want you so bad. Please, please, please--"

He's silenced very effectively with a kiss. He'd expected it to be bruising and deep, but Gladio's lips gently, intimately press against his own instead. He doesn't expect the soft moan that catches in his throat in response.

Gladio's arm wraps around Prompto's waist, pulling him in even closer, and despite the deep, aching response his body gives to that closeness it does nothing but arouse him.

"I love you." Gladio breathes in between kisses, shifting his weight again until he fits comfortably in between Prompto's legs, until Prompto can wrap his bare, bruised legs around his waist.

Gladio uses the opportunity to slip a hand underneath him, to cup his ass and spread him open. Prompto moans for it. He knows what's coming and couldn't be more eager for it. His body aches and throbs; all of the pain is inconsequential compared to how deeply his need for this runs.

Gladio presses one long, thick finger into him, and Prompto relaxes into it. His willingness makes the whole process easier, almost painless, and the stretch is good. So good. "I can take more."

He's rewarded with another finger, Gladio lining it up and pushing it in almost immediately at Prompto's request, simply trusting in his word and rewarding him for speaking at all.

It's intense. Prompto's hips rock in a needy, fucking kind of motion, forcing the fingers in him to hit sensitive spots, working with the pace of Gladio's thrusts to make them hit even deeper. It aches. He wants it to ache -- to feel on the inside like he feels on the outside.

Gladio's mouth settles on the curve of his neck, kissing where marks have already been made, and then biting along the same path. It's not like earlier. It's gentler, just the smallest reminder of how things could be, how things _would_ be if he asked for it.

He doesn't.

"Tell me you love me again." He says, and Gladio's mouth stops working at his throat.

"I do. I love you so much, Prompto."

"You wanna fuck me?"

" _Yes._ "

The way it comes out, half moaning and half words, drags him closer to the precipice of coming already. It is so rare to hear Gladio out of complete control. It does things to him. He only thinks to be humiliated after the concept of his own boldness sets in, but maybe he'd do anything to hear Gladio sound that way again. Maybe he'd get used to it.

"Please." He says. It's comfort and it's permission.

Gladio knows so. He slips his fingers out and, wordlessly, frees his cock. He doesn't pressure Prompto to be better than he is.

As he pushes into him, Prompto feels complete. The world falls away in these moments until it's just himself and Gladio -- their own private world, their own private motions and thoughts and feelings, their own special way of communicating. He thinks he is a better person because of it.

Gladio fucks him like he wants this to last, like he can't get enough of him, and Prompto pulls him in for kiss after kiss. The closeness is intoxicating; he doesn't have to remind himself anymore that he's earned it, and, for a moment, he questions whether or not that's something he should be doing at all.


	7. Chapter 7

“Gladio.” Prompto moans. “I want you so bad.”

Gladio’s on his back underneath him, his head tipped back, breathing hard as Prompto presses his mouth against any skin he can reach – his jawline, his throat, his collarbone.

Slowly, he begins to trail down, leaving kisses along his chest and down towards his abs, and Gladio feels his cock twitch in anticipation. He’s never gotten Prompto to do something like this without having to ask first.

Prompto’s hand makes contact first, rubbing along the hard outline there, his mouth still on it’s teasingly slow path down, and Gladio can’t help the moan that escapes his lips.

Prompto doesn’t understand how attractive he looks like this; he doesn’t understand how sexy it is to see him move with confidence.

He’s always liked the sight of Prompto in between his legs, his long blond hair and those innocent light eyes looking up at him, but instead of anxiety Gladio sees comfort, and trust, and maybe love.

He thinks of kintsugi, how Prompto has been broken down over the course of these weeks and months and how he’s molded himself into something new, something better and healthier. He couldn’t be prouder of him.

Prompto’s hands work with comfort and skill, handling the buttons and zipper of Gladio’s pants with ease, and as he finally, _finally_ frees his cock he says, “I want you to be rough with me.”

It isn’t quite _I want you to fuck my throat_ , but it’s close enough for now.

“Yeah.” Gladio agrees. There’s really nothing he’d rather do.

Prompto holds the base of Gladio’s cock in one hand and lets his tongue brush against the head of it, then he’s wasting no time, taking it into his mouth already. He’s impatient for that sense of helplessness, wanting to feel owned and used.

Gladio helps him from here on out, grabbing a handful of his hair and holding him in place. Prompto moans around his cock as he shoves it deeper into his mouth, breaching his throat, and suddenly the moaning is gagging, and Prompto stills where he kneels between Gladio’s legs.

From here on out he’s basically a toy. Gladio shoves his head down unkindly, and pushes his hips up, and feels Prompto’s lips at the base of his cock. He sets a rough, fast pace, the kind of pace _he_ wants, and that he knows Prompto must want, too.

They work so well together. He is perfect, everything about him.

Prompto is moaning, when he can, and the vibrations go straight to Gladio’s cock. He isn’t going to last long with Prompto so enthusiastic, so willing, so good at this.

He watches as Prompto braces his weight on one hand, the other one trailing down towards his lap and slipping between his legs, and Gladio realizes that he is really getting off to this, touching himself in front of him while he chokes on his cock.

“You are so fucking hot, Prompto.” He breathes, and Prompto moans again, and his legs spread just a little bit further.

He really isn’t going to last long. He watches Prompto’s hand working in between his legs, fingers pushing into himself, and he thinks about how hot and tight and warm he is down there, and how good he looks right now, and he feels that familiar pressure building deep.

He tugs Prompto by the hair, pulling him off his cock and holding him in place with one hand. He tells him, “Keep your mouth open.”

Prompto obeys.

Gladio has never done this to him before, has never really pushed him in this way, but he wants to _see_ him swallow, and so he does the last bit of work himself, taking his cock into his own hand and jerking himself off, aiming near Prompto’s lips.

He’s still touching himself, and he’s not wasting any time by the sound of him, by the soft, frantic moans that catch in his throat and the way his skin flushes and the way his eyes flutter shut. Then he’s whimpering, and his whole body trembles, and his hand stills, and Gladio guesses he’s already coming.

He feels like he’s living in one of his oversexualized fantasies, like seeing Prompto _this_ worked up is too good to be true.

Prompto gasps at the feel of him coming, at the way most of it winds up in his mouth, but some of it doesn’t, trickling down his lips and his chin, down the long line of his throat. And then Gladio’s telling him to swallow it, and despite the way he blushes in response he still closes his mouth and does it for him.

Gladio tugs him up to his level, then, and pulls him into a very rough, very needy kiss, which Prompto meets wholeheartedly.

“I love you, Gladio.” Prompto breathes, and he’s already grinding his hips into him like he wants more, like he’s already got a plan for what he wants to do next. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
